The Girl in Red
by fantasmeqrt
Summary: 1989. A loner named Edward picks up a girl hitchhiking on her way to Phoenix. And she has no idea he's wanted in six states. Or so he thinks. Rated M for mature graphic content and violent lemons. AH/AU OOC. Submission for the Mentalward Contest.


"**Mentalward" Contest**

**Pen Name:** fantasmeqrt

**Story Title:** The Girl in Red

**Summary:** '89. A loner named Edward picks up a girl hitchhiking on her way to Phoenix. And she has no idea he's wanted in six states. Or so he thinks. AU/AH. OOC.

**Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephanie Meyer. **

**Word count:** 5,332

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My name is Edward. Not Eddie. Or Ed. Edward. A bit old school you might think, but that's my name. Don't get it wrong.

And don't make me repeat myself twice.

And there's a few things I should tell you about me. Starting with my childhood.

At three, I had my first memory. Of my babysitter waking up screaming when she discovered herself surrounded by kitchen knives I placed around her from head to toe while she slept. And I smiled.

At five, when I was learning to ride a bike, I railroaded a baby sparrow. The sound of its fragile bones crunching under the wheel in between cemented sidewalk had been music to my ears.

At eight, I poisoned my neighbor's dog by feeding him hamburger bits laced with rat poison. And I sat idly by while the animal started to foam at the mouth and whine until it rolled over and died.

At ten, on one of the numbered days my inebriated father was passed out drunk on the couch, my mother forced me to watch her fuck around with other men. And if I dared to look away or if she caught me with my head lowered, she damn near beat the living shit out of me. Or she'd bind my hands together behind my back with a string of twine. Esme always liked to be in control. I think that's who I get it from. I also think that's where I discovered my affinity for carrying a ball of it around me wherever I go. I like to use it on my girls often.

At twelve, I got into pornography. Daddy Carlisle always had a stash of that buried somewhere in his room. I'd sneak off to watch snuff videos of women in chains, beaten, spanked, and choked while they got raped and fucked. I had wet dreams about doing those to girls I went to school with. That's when I discovered what really got me off. That led me to the libraries. I'd dig up on crime stories. You know. Those unsolved murders of the sexual kind. I used to find a private place where I could read up on those things, and jack off. After a while, those things only took you so far. And the only way you could get off was by doin' the real thing. I learned that later.

At sixteen, I picked up on auto theft. It was that time my mother ran off with another man. I got caught and was sent to a boys' correctional facility. It was there where I learned the real key to survival.

At seventeen, I ran away. I've been on my own ever since.

I'm a loner. I've been everywhere, doing odd jobs here and there. I never stay in one place too long. I get mad easily.

My hobbies? Well, I like to fuck for one thing.

Another is, I'm into girls. In fact, I love 'em. Really love 'em. Even if they don't always love me if you know what I mean. I know how to pick 'em.

Which is why, at eighteen, I killed my first girl.

Now, at twenty-three, I'm wanted in six states.

That's right, folks. I'm a serial killer.

And if someone gives me a hard time, or the girls I pick aren't cooperative, then I can get nasty.

Really. Fucking. Nasty.

You want me to be explicit? Okay. Let me illustrate how my last, ahem, "conquest" went down.

Mind you, I'm not all showy like Ted Bundy or Henry Lee Lucas. I'm a little classier than that, a little more subtle. But I do have a fairly consistent _modus operandi_. I keep a ball of twine in handy in case they scream too much. But I like anything I can strangle them with. I also love my Swiss Army knife.

See, killing is not a massacre, but an art.

I also carve my name over the chest of my girls when I'm done with them too. It lets other people know they're mine. Especially the pigs that are hell-bent on going after me. It also lets 'em know when they missed me. Again.

And again.

Now, you might wonder how I manage to slip out of the grasp of local authorities and likewise, but I have this sort of knack of changing up my appearance wherever I go. I can smooth my hair back, and don a pair of store-bought glasses and maybe a nice suit. With this look, I could pass for a geek-rendition of a nerdy college boy that a girl could take home to mama. Or I could grow a beard, wear my 'do parted to the side. Maybe I'll wear a baseball cap with a sport jacket, pass for a guy that's into athletes. Or I could be a t-shirt and jeans kinda guy, hair tousled with a bit of the five-o'clock shadow thing going on. The kind chicks wouldn't take home to meet their parents but would love to hook up with. The bad boy persona. I'm chameleon-like that way. I can be attractive, but not easily memorable if I don't want to be. People can forget a face if you try hard enough not to appear overwhelmingly noticeable.

Anyway, the last chick I had was several days ago in a bar somewhere in Kansas. I think it was Greensburg but I forget exactly where. I came in on one of those weeknights where it's pretty sparse, half-full. Not many people around. The first thing I notice is this spike-haired chick sitting at the bar reading a book. At the bar. Reading a book. I mean, how fuckin' weird is that?

Still, I'm intrigued. Even from a distance I can see she's attractive. She's wearin' skin-tight acid-washed denim jeans with these platform shoes. Her jet-black hair clashes against her bright yellow oversized sweatshirt. Classic eighties chick, she is.

She hears me come up from behind her, and then beside her. I briefly glance over to her before I turn to the bartender. I ask for a scotch on the rocks. She glances at me, smiles, and turns her attention back to her book. She notices me, but she's not interested. Yet.

"ID?" the bartender asks. I easily slip him my card, which is fake of course, but I've since developed a knack for making ID's look real. Besides, I'm legal. And he won't remember my name anyway. They never do.

He fixes me a drink and I toss the tip down. Then I start up on the conversation.

"You got a name, bookworm?" I ask, sidling up next to her by taking the empty seat. Still keeping a distance. Still keeping it real cool. The smart thing to do is wait til you receive an invitation of some form. Now she is mildly interested.

"Alice," she answers softly. "Alice Brandon."

"Mike Newton." We exchange handshakes. She goes back to her book as our conversation stills. I take a sip of my drink. Then I make another go. Like I said. Real subtle. I prefer to take my time.

"So. _Alice_. You wanna tell me what a pretty-girl like you is doin' sittin' up here all by yourself at a bar readin' a book?" I asked conversationally.

She titters at my cheesy attempt at humor. Then a half-shrug. "Nothing to do on a Tuesday night when it's quiet like this. I'd rather read than stare at the wall. At least 'til I can find someone interesting." Our eyes met, held for a moment, then we both looked away. Her gaze is back on her book, so she wouldn't seem too eager. But I got the hint. I can see the inviting sort of thrill that passed through her eyes. Maybe, if she was interested enough, she'd take me home with her tonight.

"Got a boyfriend?"

"No. I _was_ going with someone. For a while anyway. Then we had a fight. Things didn't work out," she finished, glancing briefly over her book before turning back to me with interest. "You?"

"Single. And lovin' it," I grin. She conveyed her appreciation by moving closer to me. Apparently, she thought the same. No attachments.

"Cut him loose?" I ask.

Alice took a sip of her wine. "Yeah. You'd better believe it." She flashed me a confident smile, as if she liked the way she sounded. Tough.

We talk some more for about an hour or two. I order her another glass of wine as we sip and talk. I tell her drinks are on me. Alice likes that. By then, she's less engrossed in her book and more into me. At first she was a little nervous 'cause she was afraid I might lose interest once we got talking more. Probably because I would seem like I would go into these brief, but introverted silences and she'd felt as if she'd lose me entirely if she didn't keep talking. But I'm just doing it because I know women love to hear themselves talk. And I like to keep the game going. Play with the insecurity that I might move on to someone else. But she knows I dig her.

Then time passes. After talking and drinks, she's feeling lazy. A little tired. But all the same.

Then she asks me if I'd like to go home with her. No strings attached. I didn't have any either. I was just an easy-going drifter looking for a good time. She laughed when I said that, slapped my arm and grabbed me away from the bar.

Alice would never know she took home the wrong man.

We arrive at her apartment, which is pretty small but comfortable looking. She didn't turn on the ceiling light when I closed the door, but she walked straight to the bedroom to turn on a lamp that was placed on a night table while I ease myself into an armchair, sans boots. She reaches over and turns on a cassette player. Newcomer Melissa Etheridge.

_I can see your darkened eyes_

_Across the room turn into lies and laughter_

_And asking for my name again_

_Then introduced as just a friend_

She looks at me for a moment. As if she's considering me. Then, without any hesitation or second thought, Alice steps out of her jeans. Then she peels off her sweater by lifting it over her head. No bra. White-thong panties. I liked that.

_Well it was no fantasy the passion burned_

_You touched me the evening turned to midnight_

_I can't forget the naked trust_

_One quenchless night of shaking lust and fire_

Alice moves easily and casually around the room. As if she's comfortable being naked around a stranger. Her breasts are small, but full and firm. Not big and fake-titted with silicone. Natural. Just the way I like 'em. She hands me a doobie. I take it and smoke up while she helps herself to one and does the same.

"You ever been in jail, Mike?" she asks casually, blowing out a puff. Followed by a giggle. She's already a little tipsy from the wine. I'm still fully-clothed, but relaxed.

"Yeah. Once," I lied. "Assault. Punched a bumfuck in the face. Guy wouldn't shut up." A second or two of silence passes. Then I prod her about an earlier subject we touched on briefly. "Did your ex have a name?"

My implied casualness at her lifestyle jilts her. Slightly. Maybe stirs a small dislike for me. Cut her high ground from under her feet a little. "Jasper." Her curt reply tells me it's a closed subject. I don't press anymore. She seems to relax again. I give her a little control of the situation. For a while.

_I want you_

_I want you_

_I want you_

Alice slides up against me, easing on to my lap while toying with the buttons of my plaid shirt, fingers splaying tantalizingly over my pale, exposed chest. She's waiting for me to do something.

"Why aren't you getting out of your clothes?" she asks, sliding her hand down until she finds my crotch. I'm hard. I feel her up a little. Her tits harden against my fingertips. She smiles, assured that I'm into her and we're gonna fuck.

She gets up to finish her joint. She settles against the pillows on her bed, sliding the scanty underwear past her hips, allowing the flimsy thing to dangle at the toe of her foot before letting it fall to the floor. She's high and horny and she's waiting.

Then I get up and undress too. I get down with her on the bed, pushing her down and pressing my cock against her pussy while she spread her legs, mumbling in my ear something about how she was depressed and lonely and needed a fuck. And that she couldn't sleep unless she got fucked. Fucking always made her feel better.

Still:

"Would you slam the door on your way out, please? I don't want a draft."

"Not now, cunt," I husked out, trying to get her to shut up. I'm in the mood right now, hard and randy. I put most of my weight as I shift on top of her. I'm suddenly too heavy, and she's struggling to breathe under me. Trying to get comfortable. She's trying to move, but I'm not making it easy. Then I slid my dick into her. I can feel her closing up around me. I jerk my hips back and forth. Going at it hard and rough as I fuck her. She moans, telling me not to come too soon, that she wanted this to go on and on and on.

Which is exactly what happened. I never came. Alice did though. Then she got too tired and she didn't want to do it anymore. Drowsily, she shifted in between the sheets, glancing down at my erection. My eyelids drooped. I was sated, but not satisfied.

And I was silent.

I felt Alice slap my arm, the warm friendliness of our encounter fast wearing off. She seemed upset that I hadn't come with her. As if it had given her the looming possibility that she hadn't been remotely satisfying. Or even half-way good.

"Don't fall asleep," she snapped out then. "Get your shit and get out."

My own temper flaring, I roughly ground out: "Fuck you. I ain't goin' nowhere, bitch." I didn't like the authoritative tone she took with me. It gave me the feeling that I wasn't quite in control of the situation. And I always made sure I was in control. Dominant.

She sprang up from the bed. "What the hell are you talking about?" Her voice had risen a pitch. Shrill. High.

It got on my fuckin' nerves. "I'm not done yet." Then I grabbed hold of her wrists, gripping her so tight she winced.

"Mike, stop it," Alice pleads, now looking at me intently. She catches the menacing, sadistic look that surfaced in my eyes, and _knew_. The mask had come off. Now was the real Edward. The real me.

"I'm not Mike Newton."

That was all the warning she needed. Then came the shakes. The tremors. The fear. The adrenaline rush. She starts to wig out.

"GET OUT!" She screams at the top of her lungs, scrambling to move from the bed. I'm quicker.

Panic was accelerating to hysteria now—she knows she'll never get me out now. Or that she'll get away from me. Or that she'll live to see another day. Meet another guy in a bar. Or read a book.

She reaches for the light switch and I whirl around on the bed, grabbing her by a fistful of hair and throwing her back down, sitting on her. Pinning her. The bitch screamed and howled and struggled. I tell the cunt she can scream all she wants and nobody'll hear her.

I rip the phone cord out of the wall, while she struggles to get free. Then I expertly move at lightning speed, wrapping the plastic around her neck so tight I'm choking her with it. Cutting off her air supply. Alice could feel my cock between her legs as the terror blotted out her mind. She sucks in mouthfuls of air in a vain last-ditch effort at survival. I'm getting horny again. Hot and heavy above her, I keep a grip as I strangle the hell out of her, my thrusts coming hard and fast. I know I'm going to come this time.

My face was the last thing she remembered.

Nothing gets me off like watching them die as I'm fucking them. Her eyes clouded over, and I felt her body give out from beneath me, choked to blinding severity. I moaned and came. An intense orgasm ripped through me. Fuck, this felt so good. So good…

That was two weeks ago actually. Oh and I left Alice with my signature mark. I always do that with my girls.

I left her right where she was, in the position she'd been. With an 'E' carved on her chest.

They don't call me the "E" Killer for nothing.

Anyway. I digress. Back to the present. May. 1989. Drivin' an '85 Mustang I hot-wired before hightailing it outta Kansas. Gray. I'm whistling along as I drive down the open interstate in hot weather Arizona, having just crossed the state border not longer than an hour ago. Listening to Tom Petty's newly released "Full Moon Fever." The song playing right now is "Free Fallin'." Totally bitchin'.

_It's a long day living in Reseda _

_There's a freeway runnin' through the yard _

_And I'm a bad boy 'cos I don't even miss her_

_I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart _

"And I'm free, free fallin' … Yeah I'm free, free fallin," I sing aloud, following the lyrics as I tap against the rim of the open window. I know I sound like shit, totally off-key, but when you're drivin' all by yourself on the highway out in nowhereland, who gives a fuck?

The road comes to a crooked turn, followed by a hilly slope. A car whizzes past me. Little did I know it was a prelude to the first sign of life I was about to see for miles. Much to my pleasure.

Then I notice a figure in the approaching distance. A girl. In red. Brunette. It seems she's looking for a ride. My mouth twitches into a grin.

Jackpot.

I ease my foot off the accelerator, slowing down to a stop. I roll the window down in greeting, when I'm really interested in getting a good look at the chick. She looks about my age. She has on a tight, red halter top with a black mini-skirt. Black fishnet stockings and hooker heels. Hair windblown. The just-been-fucked hair. A siren. Mmm.

Confidently, she approaches me, leaning into the passenger window, allowing me ample view of her cleavage. And her face. Her makeup is obvious but not overly heavy. Dark red lipstick, black eyeliner. Guys nowadays like their women fleshed out. All curves and busty. And tan. Like you see in magazines. I'm the total opposite. I like my girls small, a bit whippier. Fine boned. Pale-skinned.

She fit the bill perfectly. A caricature of my profile.

"Got a ride for me?" she snapped out. "To Phoenix? Or ya gonna sit there and gawk at me all day in this hot weather?"

I return the less than friendly greeting with a pleasant smile. Fuckin' A.

Like a perfect gentleman, I reach over and opened the passenger door. "Hop on in, baby." Her initial blatant greeting melts into a softer, inviting disposition. She can't resist my smile. Or my good looks.

She tosses her purse-bag in the back before plopping into the seat and slamming the door shut. "Thank God. I'm fuckin' roastin," she complained, fanning herself. I laugh and put the car into motion again, picking up speed. I'm going fast enough so if she considers getting away from me she can—if she wants to become roadkill.

"Got a name handsome?"

"Edward," I spill out, my platonic expression keeping place despite the accidental revelation of my true name and wanting to kick myself for it. I never reveal my name to my girls. Still, there was something different about her. It's always a different name for every new girl I come across. But.

"What's yours sweetheart?" I threw a glance her way. To the girl in red. My eyes dart from the road and to her in a joking leer. I don't know if I meant to turn her off, but if I had, it didn't work.

A giggle broke through her lips. "Bella," she all but purred, following her last in a sing-song. "Swan." Her legs fanned out like flexing wings, lifting one knee against the door handle, conveying an interesting juxtaposition to her surname. I wondered briefly if there was a meaning to it.

I scope her out from the corner of my eye. She sat up forward in the passenger seat, adjusting the cleavage of her halter-top, allowing her tits to peek out a bit more. Hot.

"So where you from?"

She shrugs. "Up north. I was on my way to Phoenix when my car broke down. A beat up piece of shit my old man gave me. His friend gave it to him for free."

I laugh. "Never put your faith in old cars."

"Damn skippy!" Bella agreed, laughter rolling off her pert mouth, strands of brunette hair flying mercilessly into the wind from the partially-opened window. She props her feet up on the dashboard, mini-skirt riding up a little further on her thighs. I wonder if she has panties on. Or if she went commando. I can see the garter strap of her stockings peeking out. Utterly sexy. Utterly fuckable.

My cock twitched in my jeans. If I wasn't careful, I was gonna have to pull over soon. Slam the brakes.

Bella turns to face me. "Got a doobie?" she fished, a quickwet tongue sliding across her moist lips. I'd like to bite them. Have her feel the cold metal of my Swiss. I could imagine tracing the blade over those perfect lips. Draw her blood.

"No. I'm out." A groan. "Want a cig? I've got Camels."

"Sure."

I hand her a stick. The lighter is on the ashtray. She picks it up and easily lights the puffer. There is something sexy in the way she lights her cigarette. Smooth. Experienced. I think I'm gonna have fun with her. The girl in Red. Bella.

Maybe we'd fog up the windows.

"So," I started up again. "Any reason you're headed to Phoenix?"

She pilfers out a film of smoke through lips curled in a moue; the French way. Girls think it looks cool. Casual. I think it looks stupid.

"Yeah," she answers. "I used to live there. Up until a few years back when my mom died." She said it without much emotion. "I had to finish out my last year of school in this hick town called Forks. And it _is_ a hick town because the people up there act like a bunch of red-necked assholes. Everybody knows too much about everybody."

"Really?" I answer with mild interest. "And what did your father say when you left?"

"Nothing," she snips out. "Not after I told him to fuck off." Then she gives me this dark smile, teeth gleaming underneath the open sunlight. "He knows what a free spirit I am. And he doesn't _dare_ cross me." She takes a final drag of her cigarette before flicking it out of the window. She turns back to eye me again. This time playfully. "I think you can understand where I'm coming from."

Excitement and adrenaline rushes through me with a jolt. I hadn't expected that. Bella was definitely different. Confident. In control of herself. In control of the situation.

"Maybe," I answer neutrally. My voice is rougher this time though. Edgier. A low warning. Then she reaches over and switches off the radio. Silence. My glare lets her know I'm getting mad. It doesn't seem to perturb her though.

This bitch needed to get dominated. I'd teach her a lesson or two about submission.

I didn't say anything. And strangely enough, it had been exactly what she needed to provoke the situation, drive it further into her favor.

Bella leaned in closer to me, not bothering with the seatbelt. Her hand slides across my thigh, inching closer to my growing hardness. She's getting me in the mood. My dick is halfway up.

What she did next far exceeded my expectations. She had me totally blindsided.

This Bella was unpredictable. Unlike any girl I'd ever met. Totally unconquered.

"You lay a bitch yet this week, Eddie?" she whispered sultrily. "Carve your name on her chest?" Her fingers press into my groin, sending a burning sensation rushing between my thighs.

She knows exactly who I am. And exactly what I want.

"You don't know who you're dealin' with, missy," I growled. My eyes spell murder. I let her know she just made one big. Fucking. Mistake. She should know better. But my promise of terror only seems to turn her on. Like she's into it.

"I've been lookin' for you Eddie," she breathed hotly against the shell of my ear, rubbing expertly against my bulging cock. I swear I was gonna come right then and there. "I've been lookin' for you for a really. _Long._ Time."

I remove a hand from the steering wheel, using it to grab her hair, yanking her head up. "Well, you found me, honey. Anything you'd like to know?" A gasp escapes her mouth. And she proceeds to continue her handjob actions.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what it is you want, Ed," she cooed, lips pouted in a simpering whine. Her painted-black fingernails scrape against my balls, stroking the sensitive flesh. This bitch was drivin' me crazy.

As if she read my mind, Bella unzips my fly, freeing my dick from my jeans. Then, she leans down, and brushes her hot tongue against the head of my swollen, aching member. My hand jerks on the steering wheel, making a dangerous, hard right. The car slides obtusely to the right, before I steer it back into the lane, avoiding a car that passed us.

I almost wrecked.

No way in hell was I gonna get bested this way.

_I_ was the one in charge.

And nobody fuckin' calls me Eddie. Or Ed.

I press hard into the brakes, swerving off the shoulder and shoving the stick into park.

"Let's get a couple things straight, cunt." Now the roles are reversed. I have her pinned beneath me, and she's wincing against the hard surface of the center console pressing into her back. And I have my knife pressed against her throat. "One: My name is Edward. And two: you don't call the shots. I do."

A film of perspiration coats the pale forehead, the base roots of her hair dampening. The sweat trickles to her chest. My eyes travel over her face. Her lips. They are pulled back enough to hint at a smile. The message was clear.

She's turned on. She was _enjoying_ this.

Un-fuckin-believable.

"Aren't you gonna fuck me Edward?" Her words display the stoic bravado she still has about her, and at the same time it gives me a semblance of control now that she has gotten my name right.

I trail the knife from her lips, exactly what I had entertained earlier in my mind. I give her my most sadistic smile. "Oh Bella," I tease. "You and I are gonna have _so_ much fun."

To emphasize my point, I let the tip of the blade press into her bottom lip. I press a little too deeply, and I cut her. Blood seeps through the wound, and before she can nurse it with her tongue, I lower myself down and lick it, trapping her mouth in between my teeth in a mixture of pain and pleasure. She moans. Her body instinctively arches up against me, legs spreading even wider. Our tongues collide, our mouths laced with the flavor of Camels and blood and the distinct flavor of hard liquor. Delicious.

My other hand wanders, reaching in between her legs and to the junction between her thighs, feeling the soft patch of her womanhood. Definitely commando.

She twitches and bucks against me, trembling for my touch even as I hold the blade to her throat. My fingers brush against her clit and she utters a strangled cry. It's the sweetest sound I ever heard. And I want to hear it again.

I rub my thumb against her swollen center, and she gyrates her hip against me maddeningly, letting me know how wet she is for me. My dick throbs painfully, begging to be freed completely so I can impale her. As I continue this course of action, intent on watching her get off, I let my other hand continue the task of teasing her with my knife. I dip the blade into the fabric between her cleavage, letting it linger there. She is absolutely enjoying it.

Her own wayward hand finds my cock again, stroking it with her manicured nails. The action threw me off guard, prompting a cry of pain and pleasure as I cut too deep when I made a clean slice into her top, exposing her to me with a thin red line. The sight proves to be too much for her, and in between feeling my hardness and my thumb teasing her clit, she culminates into her own savage turmoil of pleasure. I almost come just from watching her.

In a frenzy, I sat up, pushing the jeans down my hips, letting them tangle around my legs before lowering myself to her again. She sits up and does the same, freeing her torso from the ruined top and exposing the beguiling softness of her breasts, nipples hardened into tight peaks. I capture one into my mouth, biting hard into the sensitized flesh and she cries out in an almost-scream.

"Spread your legs for me, bitch."

Riding easily into my game, she glides her tongue across her teeth, doing exactly as I commanded as she parted herself to me, ready to receive her punishment.

Then I slam myself into her, filling her with every inch of my cock. This time she screams. But her pained cry salvaged into a pleasured moan, meeting my thrusts, hard and fast. Violent. Rough. With her I reached a new level of pain and pleasure, unlike it had been with the other girls. I was going to get off in every way imaginable. This was the break I'd been looking for. A whole new high.

"Harder, Edward," she begged, nails digging into my flesh, nipping my earlobe. "Fuck me harder."

Intent on breaking her, being consumed with her, and dominating her, I gave into Bella's demands, going at it rougher, faster, until our bodies began to convulse. My hand shot out to the window, the steam leaving a handprint as I came hard and fast, exploding inside of her with a rush of pleasure that I'd never known.

Panting and struggling to catch our pace of breath, I lower myself back down to Bella, trembling and shuddering around me, our sweat-slickened bodies pressed together like flesh that had been welded together. We stare at each other, lost in the oasis that has passed through our bodies. Her tongue juts out luridly at me, and I chuckle darkly. This is just the beginning.

Then, unexpectedly, a flash of panic rips through me. We're not alone.

There's the familiar sound of sirens blaring in the distance. I shot up. A state police car was coming down the highway.

Shit.

I sprang up from my position, scrambling to fumble with my pants. Bella moves to straighten up too, all twitchy and panicked.

The sirens are getting closer.

This time, I might get caught.

I just fucking might.

Fuck!

* * *

**A/N: So…this is my first one-shot (Twilight) fic. It's been an interesting experience writing this. Reviews are much appreciated! **

**I'd also like to thank Project Team Beta for taking the time to assess my little piece. Despite your compliments on my self-editing skills, I seriously would not have considered submitting it without your suggestions/input. You guys rock. :) **


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